Can We Ever Go Back?
by December Camie
Summary: Arthur refused to believe that destiny and fate controled his life, so he built up an Empire where he was in control, and no one else. But what happens when his most precious colony decides that he does not want to be a part of Arthur's Empire?


Sometimes Arthur wondered if it was always meant to be this way.

He did not believe in fate, never once considered destiny. Those words was just another clever way of saying _this is the end_. Arthur did not like endings. They were cruel, often terrible, hardly ever happy or pleasant. So he decided that he was going to be in control of his own future. Arthur built a wall around himself by conquering territories; his own empire that he could have complete control over. Only he could decide its beginning and end, fate and destiny would have no power over him. However, he never once thought that one of his very own would utter that hated word. The _End_.

Yes, one of Arthur's very own. At the time, his most prized possession. No, not a possession. It was that simple mistake of calling him that which had started this mess in the first place. The boy had never been his, the boy's land maybe, but the boy himself? Never. Arthur had been a fool to think otherwise. The boy was as free and vibrant as the wind rolling over the green grassy plains; the boy's country was much the same. Arthur knew that now.

But it didn't matter now, did it? Because the boy was gone, regardless of how many times Arthur apologized, or begged him to reconsider. He had grown up in that one stretch of time when Arthur had been too busy to visit, and by the time he returned to his beloved brother, the boy had somehow turned into a man. A man who could fend for himself; a man who did not constantly need an older brother by his side; a man who had become independent of Arthur, whether or not either of them realized it at first.

Arthur missed those innocent, sweet times. The boy- Arthur bluntly refused to call him a man, even now- had been a constant bright source in his otherwise lonely life. The New World his people liked to call it, and rightfully so; it was a place where Arthur could forget his duties and be content. The boy practically radiated the beautiful, guiltless happiness that was like a drug to Arthur after all the years of repression and bloodlust. His hair was warm and bright like the sun, his skin pale and soft like seashells, and then there were his eyes.

His eyes.

That was one thing Arthur could never forget, no matter how hard he tried or how much time passed. It haunted his dreams, plagued his thoughts, and he saw it where ever he went like a persistent ghost. Arthur remembered the boy's eyes were the color of the sky. Not the dull, gray skies that Arthur was accustomed to back in his homeland, but the clear, cloudless skies of the wild. Such a light, beautiful blue that it took Arthur's breath away. Nothing was quite as clear and deep as the boy's eyes. If you looked at them closely enough, you could see into his soul. It was one of Arthur's favorite qualities about the boy, a quality that Arthur missed dearly.

The skies were not clear nor blue the day the boy dared to say the word; that horrid, terrible day that the boy decided to leave. It was raining, Arthur recalled. Drops of water pelted the two armies so hard that it felt more like hail than harmless liquid. The ground was a mushy swamp, mud caked the earth and puddles were copious in number. Everything was dull, grey and washed out. The only source of color was the coats of the two armies that faced off in the clearing. Arthur's army, trained soldiers with coats the shade of blood, faced the American forces; his little brother's army. They wore coats of blue, the same as the boy's eyes; Arthur's favorite color, more precious than any hue of red or white. It was almost as if they were trying to see how far they could push Arthur before he broke.

And there he was, standing tall and proud, just as Arthur had taught him so long ago. He was drenched, the water weighing down his clothes, but his gaze never once wavered, and neither did his resolve, much to Arthur's dismay. And really, how foolish had Arthur been to think that he could keep his little brother in a cage and expect him to stay loyal to the mother country? It was impossible to trap such a carefree spirit or such clear blue eyes. Arthur knew in that instant that even if he did succeed in taking the boy's people back under his wing, the boy himself would never again be his little brother. Their link had broken; the love they had shared was gone. The boy would always resent Arthur for what he had done, and he would revolt again, Arthur was sure of it. So, really, what was the point in fighting when it was a lost cause from the start?

A part of Arthur died in the rain that day. It broke off when Arthur was kneeling in the slippery mud, while tears cascaded down his cheeks. Trust, love, what did it mean in the end? Nothing. People left, it happened every day. So why did something that was so ordinary hurt so much? It was pain beyond pain; impossible to describe, yet a kind of torture that Arthur was used too. He had been left behind and picked on when he was younger, he knew what it was like to be alone and hated by others. He was used to not having friends or allies. But this time…this time was different. It was as if all the pain that Arthur kept bottled up had suddenly decided to pour out of him at an alarming rate. He could not move, sleep, or eat for days after he left the sandy shores of the newly formed country. He just lay in bed, staring numbly at the ceiling, reliving his past life with the boy he had dared to call his little brother.

Arthur knew better now. He knew to not get attached to his colonies, because in reality, that was all they should be. Colonies. Loyal to the motherland, existing _for_ the motherland, and nothing else. He refused to get into relationships with any of their personifications; he was not ready to feel the complete and utter agony of a breaking heart ever again.

Destiny and fate had gotten in the way with Alfred, had brought about a terrible end to a relationship that should have lasted for all eternity. But this had only convinced Arthur to build a higher wall within himself; on the outside, he pushed himself to conquer the world.

Because once he conquered the world, he would have Alfred in his arms again. And that, in the end, was all he ever wanted.

-o0o-

**This is my take on what Arthur (the person, not the country) thought about the Revolutionary War. I do not own Hetalia.**

**Inspired by this video: **

**ttp:/www .youtube. com/watch? v=1rC3wI86PKA&feature= channel_video_title **

**12/21/2011**


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